I don't know where I'm going, but I'm on my way…

Handstand Contest

I like to think I can be quite a charming guy. But please don’t get me wrong: I say this in a very humble way. I happened to hang out with a bunch of guys with strong personalities where wit and humor were just about everywhere. I just learned by exposure and imitation.

I am aware that the common understanding of the word ‘charm’ comes hand in hand with a hefthy dose of dishonesty. So let me get this straight right off the bat: I’m the what-you-see-is-what-you-get type. I try to be 100% genuine. I’m just aware that wit and humor make for good first impresions on people. And that doesn’t make me dishonest, but feel free to disagree.

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When I was invited to join in on Mette’s family dinner in Copenhagen shortly after agreeing with her to hitchhike around the Baltic Sea, I knew very well what it meant. They wanted to know who this Canadian boy was and why they should trust him with their loved one.

I’ll admit to this: I’m bad at many things. Like compromising, admitting wrongdoings, and planning ahead, for example. But doing the charming-the-family thing, I can hold my own. Nothing prepared, no jokes, nothing phony: just being myself.

So we get there and I get introduced to the mom, the sister, her husband and their kid, a totally charming heartbreaker-to-be 10 year old girl.

Appetizers are brought out and bottles of wine get popped open. We get past the initial sitting-with-legs-crossed moment quite fast as I get asked about how we met while travelling in Cuba 2 years before. Mette was translating to her niece, sending harsh glances my way whenever I would embellish the story a little too much for her liking.

You could feel that the young girl wanted to be part of the conversation. And the second I was done talking, she jumped in and took control of the whole room:

“I’m taking gym classes now, and I learned to do cart wheels, back flips and handstands!” said the proud girl, smiling.

She was looking straight at me, talking in Danish, and expecting her aunt, sitting by her side, to keep fulfilling her translation duties so I could understand.

With a grin on my face, I lean towards Mette and hush: “Ask her if she’s down for a handstand match.”

She looks at me puzzled, and then looks away, pretending to not have heard.

– Comon! Ask her. I mean it.

She didn’t know what I had in mind and she was afraid I would make a fool out of myself in front of her family. I told her not to worry about it.

So reluctantly, Mette asks her niece if she’d be down for a handstand match. Instantly, the girl’s smile managed to get even larger. She agreed with no hesitation.

So we both get up and line up side by side. Everyone gets to a good spot of the room and takes out either a camera or smartphone to capture the event. We put both our arms up in the air (even though hers came up to about the height of my chest) and after a moment of silence, Mette starts the countdown: 3…2..1…

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Thing is, I’m a half-decent athlete. Once again, I say this in a very humble way. I’m no profressional, I just happened to do them all at one time or another: judo, ping-pong, hockey, baseball, broomball, etc… As a kid, I was hurrying to be done with my homework so as to get back outside. Sometimes, that meant slap-shooting tennis balls in an empty hockey net. At others, it meant doing the best imitation of Mark Langston‘s throwing motion and landing the same tennis balls on the garage door. To this day, it still bears the scars of my (*cough* *cough*) fastballs.

Anyways, as a result, I have decent coordination and general physical abilities. And don’t ask me why or how, but one of them happens to be doing handstands and walking around on my hands. Who knew it would come in handy one day…

—

So as Mette gives us the go, both the kid and myself take a small leap backwards, then foreword, extend both arms, kick back the legs, and land on our hands.

Obviously, I beat the 10 year old flat out. It wasn’t even close. You didn’t think I was going to let her win, did you?

“Wait, I fell. It doesn’t count! Let’s make that a 2 out of 3!” she yells, after coming down on her feet.

So I made sure to officialize my victory by staying a few extra seconds on my hands, and asking my opponent if she admitted defeat before coming down myself. I like to rub it in every now and then…

The niece couldn’t believe she had been beaten at her own game by some “old” bearded foreigner who couldn’t even speak Danish. The sister couldn’t believe her daughter being so outspoken and interactive with a stranger. And Mette couldn’t believe I had just convinced the whole family that their loved one was in good hands, that they could sleep tight for the following week. They saw that they didn’t have to worry about anything while we were going to be hitchhiking around the Baltic Sea, with nothing planned other than a very early rise the following day.